you left a hole where my heart should be
by S.J Carter
Summary: This time, Camille dreams of his hands: rough and wide-palmed, with charcoal stained finger-pads. Palms tainted with splotches of paint; green and blue, like his eyes. If he touches her, if he dares to, with those hands: tugging at her clothes, and weaving themselves in to her hairs. She wonders if he'll mark her skin like a painting. —-KlausCami, Cami-centric


_Le notes: _Spoilers for TO 1x03. I must admit, I really don't know what I was trying to accomplish by writing this. I just knew that I had to write something for Klamille some time in my life (because this ship is so awesome). So, if you're confused here it's okay, because I'm sort of confused as well. And the title's from Breaking Benjamin, if you haven't guessed already.

_Summary:_ This time, Camille dreams of his hands. —-KlausCami, Cami-centric

**.**

**._.**

**you left a hole where my heart should be  
**  
**.**

**._.**

i see nothing  
in your eyes

**._.**

**.**

**/ / /**

Reality, for Camille O'Connell, has nothing to do with logic, reason, or science but everything to do with vampires, witches and werewolves. She's unaware —or actually slightly aware but compulsion tends to blur the thin line between awareness and unawareness— that the hell demons from her dreams are no longer held captive within the four confides of her mind. As if the Earth itself is now this unknown nightmare; horrific images of men with fangs, blood, and death. So much death. It's almost like she is Alice and this is someone's twisted version of a nightmarish wonderland; where the Cheshire Cat's ear-to-ear grin has his teeth tainted with blood, where the rapid hare's visage is nothing short of malicious, and the queen of hearts is actually a king, undead and complicated, with eyes blue —like the heart of the Nile River— and hair spun golden —similar to the yellow-ish hues of the sun's amber stained rays.

Niklaus, she thinks, is what some would call a 'devil'. But Camille O'Connell doesn't believe in evil; everyone has good in them, you see? Even the hopeless, hurt, and lonely. _Everyone_.

And yet the nightmares prove her wrong. For the vampires come to her under the tones of rotted flesh and bones and Niklaus finds her, under a pile of ash and smoke, suffering and grieving. He makes a promise to take her pain away and, uncontrollably, Camille lets him.

(She wakes up, she screams and she runs—

she doesn't, can't, will not stop,

—not until she thinks herself safe).

**.**

**/ / / **

In the morning light, she recalls the arms of someone who is warm. She hadn't realized, that her legs had unconsciously dragged her across town, through the woods, and right in front of his doorstep. She remembers being sprawled on top of his doormat, eyes barely opening and her vision blurry.

She thinks that she was carried. In to his arms and back in to his chamber.

That evening, when the clouds hang oppressively low in the heavens, she dreams of him instead of those hellish hell demons. He's bright like twilight; flashes of happiness passing by her like a breeze. She feels it, but for only a moment. She sees visions of him, as a carefree child, of happier times, and laughter. So much laughter. Later, she makes a note of it. She analyzes these things; dreams that is. And lately, it seems that she's been, quite often, dreaming of Niklaus.

(—she wonders if he ever dreams of her as well)

**.**

**/ / /**

When Camille is young, nothing but a decade old, her brother holds her hand in his. It was a dull, dark, and soundless day; five winters have passed and still, she feels as if her brother is somehow…changing. As if years of terror and agony have gone by, things so traumatic and strange that she didn't even know if this type of terror had a name.

As he advances, she lets go. Camille, for the first time, sees her brother from a distance.

"Are you afraid, Cami?" He questions, walking along the log spread across the riverbend. She nods, shyly. Her brother stretches his arm out for her to take. "There is nothing to be afraid of, I am here." His eyes shine, like the swirling irises of an angel.

She backs away as he raises his brow. "Cami," he begins, eyelids falling. "Don't you trust me?"

**.**

**/ / / **

She screams in her sleep.

And she cries.

And then, she's quiet.

All the while, Niklaus watches. He wakes her only when she kicks, only when she yells. Her eyes open wide and she looks to him, eyes wild and tearful. "I don't understand," she begins, arms pushing him away. "What are you doing to me?" She questions and all he can do is stay silent. "Tell me, what are you doing to me?" She asks, this time, with a bit more authority in her voice.

He places a hand over hers; it feels like an oath, she thinks.

He mouths the rest of his promise. "I won't hurt you," he adds, lips light on her forehead. Almost touching, but not really. His breath feels cool against her skin, like a soft summer breeze. "Cami, you must trust me."

It's an order, more than a piece of advice or a question, really.

How could she expect anything less?

_Now sleep, sweet Cami._

**.**

**/ / /**

This time, Camille dreams of his hands.

She knows not if this is a positive aspect or a negative one, but lately, the dreams of her brother's face and the dreams of the scary wonder-less world, are all replaced by Klaus's features. Tonight, by chance, it is his hands.

—rough and wide-palmed, with charcoal stained finger-pads. Palms tainted with splotches of paint; green and blue, like his eyes. If he touches her, if he dares to, with those hands:

tugging at her clothes,

and

weaving themselves in to her hairs.

She wonders if he'll mark her skin like a painting; a masterpiece immortalized in to the four corners of a once-upon-a-time blank canvas.

She finds it ironic, that these pretty hands are sometimes covered with blood. Or so she's seen, once or twice in her dreams. She might ask herself whether or not Niklaus has been sharing these memories with her on purpose.

Camille feels her own mind, turning against her. Slowly but surely, she's losing her sanity.

**.**

**/ / /**

Her brother comes to her, _soon_.

Under a miasma of despair, she receives another memory. You see, Camille O'Connell is this girl who loves being right. Her twin brother knew this, knew her, and he probably knew her more than he knew himself. He let her be right sometimes, because she liked the satisfaction of being right. He loves to see that smile on her face so, at times, he really doesn't mind letting her have the upper hand.

Although, the nights she sees him with her eyelids closed, she gets this feeling for which she has no name for. For the image of his body is irregular; his limbs are restless and the hues of his life are dimmed with darkness.

_I shouldn't have trusted you, _she recalls thinking as his soul suddenly disappears, _I was right in the first place._

Her brother nods, _yeah Cami_, his voice sounds distant, _you always are._

**.**

**/ / / **

Near the end of September, she finds herself constantly analyzing Niklaus. As if it is a bad habit that she can't break. She studies him whenever he comes to her bar, whenever he speaks to her, whenever she sees him, whenever she dreams about him. It's as if she's haunted by the knowledge of his existence. The mere fact that he is living —well, sort of— and breathing plagues her mind. She can't stop thinking about him.

"You remind me of an earthquake," she releases, one night over one too many drinks in her system.

And Klaus raises a brow at his _brave bartender_. "An earthquake?" He repeats, wanting an explanation. _I'm right_, she thinks, _as always. _She's sure that she can still read people like an open book. He's no mystery, he can't be. There's no such thing as mysteries. There really isn't.

"Yeah," she says, confidently. "Your reactions…emotions, they're shattering everyone around you. Shaking the ground beneath your feet."

He chuckles; strong and firm, as he tucks his chin in to his scarf with his motions. "You sound positively mad." Her eyes widen with the sight of a flash of moonlight catching in Klaus's hair, and she realizes this: _I'm wrong_, she thinks, _I can't read him at all._

"I think I just might be."

—truly, _mad_ly, deeply, in lo—

Camille O'Connell thinks that she's heard much better love stories.

**.**

**/ / / **

The next time, she dreams of Klaus's back.

Porcelain, beautiful, and untainted skin. Smooth lines and the dips of his bones, unscarred. It's pure, unlike the rest of him (or so many may think so). For now, Cami decides, that she loves his back. The way it twists and turns, all the muscles and the dents of his spine. Unusual and usual motions. She can picture the white bones under the paleness of his skin. It reminds her of the brightness and intensity of a stainless full moon.

It may be strange and unbecoming, what saddens her the most though, is that his back means that he is leaving.

She watches him go with feelings of half anxiety and half of a vague terror.

Unmistakably, Camille is restless.

**.**

**/ / /**

Her love. That was always her strength, or so she was told —she loved her brother deeply, you know? More than she loved anyone, ever. She would have died for him. Her love is where all her power came from, it was born deep inside her heart. And it was unstoppable and ruthless, passionate; it might swallow someone whole if she wasn't careful with it (which she wasn't,

—_someone broke your trust_)

Now all that she loved is lost.

**.**

**/ / / **

Camille feels like her world is collapsing when she thinks about asking him this: "do you believe in love, Klaus?" The moon is new in the sky as she poses her question. He takes it as a symbol of fresh starts and new beginnings. Yet, his mottoes are still the same as always.

"Love," he says, "is a vampire's greatest weakness."

Her heart feels weak, like a million pieces broken and cracked, in to an oblivion. A thousand and one thoughts boggled her mind and yet, she kept them to herself. Like why he thought of love as a weakness when she used to see it as strength. Perhaps, if she shared his views on life, she thinks she might have been less hurt. However, Camille sees the pain in his eyes and then, she knows how wrong she is. She breaks their 'staring contest' soon enough.

"Oh," she says, finally. "Is that so?"

Klaus nods, motionlessly.

"Yes," he believes, "yes it is."

**.**

**/ / / **

Later, Camille dreams of his mind.

It's hard to explain; over-complicated. It's layers upon layers of sad memories. She wishes they were fabricated but, they can't be. She knows this because she can't imagine anyone who would desire to fabricate such hurtfulness. Still, no matter how broken, his mind is also quite marvelous. Endless colors and shapes; poetry and prose. Camille wants to inhale it, like a line of cocaine. She desires his mind; it's so fascinating and addicting. It's hows and wheres. Cami thinks that she wants to know what makes Klaus tick, what he likes and dislikes, how he operates and how he wins or loses. She wants to break his skull open and climb in, discover and re-discover him until the end of time.

She knows that he likes her mind too. Yet, she can't help but feel as if he's been in there before. And, as for her, his mind is all new territory. She is a stranger and he is puzzle, waiting to be pieced back together.

A stranger's hands can only do so much, she's afraid because she's broken herself.

She wonders if, perhaps, they can heal each other.

(_it's the blind leading the blind_) —what a horrific idea.

**.**

** / / /**

"Cami, don't do this!" Her brother screams.

He haunts her day and night.

"Cami please, you don't know what you're getting yourself in to!"

"Leave me alone!" She shouts. She doesn't realize that she is already alone, that this is just a dream. That her brother is not really her brother but just some made up fallacy. An nonexistent image of a man whom she once knew. He is a lie; an absence of feelings of truth which once touched her and now, she's so afraid that she thinks the truth is no longer believable. It's just a lie, based on another lie, which was based on yet another lie. This is the paradox —that life is just a bunch of lies, lies which one hides from oneself in order to forget the harsh realities of one's past.

"You don't understand," Cami says, "I think about you constantly; I can't sleep, I can't eat. I'm losing my mind!" She announces as, once again, his soul slowly starts to vanish.

"If you start blocking me out," he begins, "it won't solve anything. You'll still be paranoid, and everything around you will still seem fuzzy, and I'll still be dead and—

"Stop! _Stop it_!" She tells him, and right away, he can tell that she sounds more hurt than angry. "I can't control what's happening to me. I don't want to block you out." Camille confesses. "It's better for me if I do, I know this." She goes on to say. "But I don't want to. You're my brother and…I don't think that I can trust anyone, ever again because I lost you."

And then suddenly, as she pries her eyelids open, her brother is gone and she is back in Niklaus's lawn.

The hybrid holds his arm out for her to take.

(he had been expecting her company, hadn't he?)

**.**

**/ / /**

The painting, hanging from Klaus's salon, remains unfinished.

She's gazing at his artwork and it looks even more beautiful when it is incomplete because it appears to be more mysterious. She likes to compare it to a story that is still in-progress. The best kind of tale with a mixture of light and darkness.

"You're staring."

Beneath the red eye of the blazing sun, Niklaus finds her.

"I'm _admiring_." She corrects, watching him as he makes his ways closer towards her.

"You once told me that," he begins, as their eyes meet, "every artist has a story." She nods her head, offering Klaus a delightful smile. One he hasn't seen in a while. "What if I told you that my story is unlike any you've ever heard?"

Her eyes widen; she doesn't know why she comes to him every time the nightmares hit her. She doesn't know why he makes her feel safe at all. Maybe it's the way her name rolls off his tongue, or how he's always catching her off guard, making her think and rethink everything and anything that she's ever known.

"I wouldn't believe you." She confesses, finally. "I've heard all the stories, kept track of all the symptoms, and diagnosed everything. I know what happens when someone is deeply hurt."

"They don't heal?"

"No," Camille demands, as she shifts her gaze away from Klaus and goes back to placing her focus on his painting. "They heal, sometimes. But they never forget."

**.**

**/ / /**

The first time it happens, it's not accidental but, nor is it on purpose.

She tries not to dream about the dead, so he holds her instead. Klaus folds her in to a tight embrace and doesn't let go until she cries herself to sleep. He could compel her again, he really could, but she told him that she needed this. She needed to welcome the pain and suffering with arms wide open. She silently burrows herself against his side. She's still shaking in every limb. Sometimes, she asks him to embrace her even tighter and he does so without question.

He never makes any moves to touch her without her explicit permission.

**.**

**/ / /**

The moon glowed dimly, a cream-colored disc suspended in the velvet sky as Camille dreams of Klaus's heart.

It's black; like a raven's wing. Normally, it would give her a chill —paralyzing her into stone. But tonight, his heart seems welcoming for she stirred not and trembled not. Camille simply sat and listened carefully to the endless _thumpa-thumpas _of his heartbeats. Like club music on a busy night, so alive and exciting, nothing like she ever imagined. For his most vital organ may be such a dark and dreadful color yet, it is so beautifully living. It's hypnotizing and perfect.

It makes her think of the rapid flutters of a humming bird's wings.

It's magnetic and it pulls her in.

Finally, the fearful wonderland she usually dreams about surprisingly transforms itself in to this fantasy. Where Alice sleeps peacefully, and the Cheshire Cat purrs soothingly beside her. The rapid hare tells fantastic stories and the queen of hearts is still a king, gentle and soft, with eyes blue —like the heart of the Nile River— and hair spun golden —similar to the yellow-ish hues of the sun's amber stained rays.

(she wakes up to a hybrid looming over her face—

she holds in her screams because he says

_"I'll keep you safe."_)

She lets her fingers graze over his chest, looking for that same rapid heartbeat from her dreams. When Camille fails to find it, she understands.

She finds it ironic, that somehow, this man with no heart is the one who ended up filling the holes within her own heart.

**.**

**/ / /**

**End**

**/ / /**

**.**

_Le more notes:_ I don't know, I took a lot of liberties with the tid bit of info we got on Camille's twin brother. Make sure to leave me a review telling me what you thought about this fic, I love reading them and I'm considering taking requests, so if you have any ideas leave me a review or PM me. I am also on tumblr (link on my profile) come say hello!

—_**Xoxo Carter**_


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